My current week-long Florida vacation would make a good slapstick comedy, at least so far. Or else a Shakespearean tragedy, depending on how much wine I've had to drink.
My husband and I arrived on Thursday afternoon. We hadn't been at our hotel but fifteen or twenty minutes before I got stung by a Man-O-War tentacle from one of the dire, dead creatures that washed up in a bit of sea foam and caressed my bare feet as we walked along the shore. (Interesting fact: They can still sting you several days after their death, and even if it's just part of one.) There were plenty of people out swimming and surfing who were not getting stung, but I, dressed in long jeans with just the barest amount of flesh available, did. Let me tell you, it hurt like all get-out, and for hours and hours, turning my middle toe on one foot and the sole of the other a deep scarlet and ruining my dinner, my sleep and part of breakfast the next day. Then it stopped and I was fine.
For my first day on the beach I swathed myself in sunscreen, SPF 70, just to be sure. And sat under an umbrella except when I went swimming in the pool; there was no way I was going back to that ocean, which was still chock full of the sea pests that sting. I was sure I was safe from sunburn, except as I found out later -- much later -- I had missed a huge swath of my neck and shoulder area, the skin of which became blood-red by nightfall and resulted in a second night of tossing and turning.
Then last night, I all but lost my mind when the left-wing media concocted a complete non-story over the fact that Donald Trump cancelled an appearance in Chicago because of safety concerns. Next thing you know it was blown all out of proportion, mostly by one Mr. Rachel Maddow who surely should have that transgender surgery since she doesn't have a female cell in her body. I can't even call her a bitch, so I guess she's a prick. Anyway, watching all that pompous political punditry full of lies and innuendo right before bed kept me up half the night.
I am hoping to get very drunk at dinner and sleep like a baby tonight. (FYI, we are actually in Deerfield Beach but the title worked so much better with Sarasota.)
My husband and I arrived on Thursday afternoon. We hadn't been at our hotel but fifteen or twenty minutes before I got stung by a Man-O-War tentacle from one of the dire, dead creatures that washed up in a bit of sea foam and caressed my bare feet as we walked along the shore. (Interesting fact: They can still sting you several days after their death, and even if it's just part of one.) There were plenty of people out swimming and surfing who were not getting stung, but I, dressed in long jeans with just the barest amount of flesh available, did. Let me tell you, it hurt like all get-out, and for hours and hours, turning my middle toe on one foot and the sole of the other a deep scarlet and ruining my dinner, my sleep and part of breakfast the next day. Then it stopped and I was fine.
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| "Dried Seaweed and Dead Men-O-War" |
Then last night, I all but lost my mind when the left-wing media concocted a complete non-story over the fact that Donald Trump cancelled an appearance in Chicago because of safety concerns. Next thing you know it was blown all out of proportion, mostly by one Mr. Rachel Maddow who surely should have that transgender surgery since she doesn't have a female cell in her body. I can't even call her a bitch, so I guess she's a prick. Anyway, watching all that pompous political punditry full of lies and innuendo right before bed kept me up half the night.
I am hoping to get very drunk at dinner and sleep like a baby tonight. (FYI, we are actually in Deerfield Beach but the title worked so much better with Sarasota.)
When you get stung by a jellyfish, you're supposed to pee on the affected area.
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure if this works, of if people from jellyfish-prone areas just like to laugh at the "outsiders", and keep up the myth.
--Tedinski
No men-of-war up here. No snow either, but maybe just that adds more chill to your already not so hot vacation
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